Jake
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl AU. Oneshot. He wasn't too big. He wasn't too small. And it didn't take long before Daryl realized that he was just right.


**AN: This is just a light little oneshot to fill the prompt that therealsonia sent me. She wanted to see Carol and Daryl adopting a dog from a shelter.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol stopped and cooed in front of the little cage. She dropped to one knee and offered the back of her hand, flat against the outside of the chain link door, for the dog to sniff. The small dog sniffed at it, danced around with excitement, and then promptly pissed itself and dove into lapping at her hand with a fury that Daryl couldn't believe. He couldn't help but curl his lip at the vision of the animal and the image that it brought to his mind of him being forced to walk this thing on the thin piece of string that would probably be all that he needed to restrain a creature of such stature.

"He's so cu-ute!" Carol squealed. Her voice did nothing more than kick the dog's excitement level up a notch.

Carol looked at Daryl from her position on the ground and smiled. He hated, almost more than anything, to tell her that she couldn't have something she wanted. In fact, to date, he could only think of a few situations in the entirety of their relationship where he had actually stooped so low as to tell her "no". He simply couldn't stand the look in her eyes when she felt disappointed and he'd been driven to do all kinds of things to keep from seeing it.

But a dog? Their dog? A dog that, in theory, was really supposed to be more his dog than hers? Man's best friend?

That's where Daryl was going to have to draw the line and he was going to have to tell Carol that, no, they couldn't have the dancing hamster.

He shook his head and Carol frowned before she stood up and straightened her clothes. For a little added authority, Daryl set his face again, against her frown, and shook his head once more. Her frown deepened.

"Oh but why not?" She asked, glancing back at the piebald rat that was confused about why it was that he wasn't going home with the squealing woman and the man-servant she'd brought for him.

"Too damn small," Daryl said.

"We don't want a big dog," Carol said. "Not in our house, Daryl. It'll—tear the whole thing down around us."

"Then we'll build it back up again," Daryl said. He swallowed. She looked devastated, but he wasn't giving in on this. He shook his head again. "I told you that I don't want no little rat dogs," Daryl said. "Before we ever left the house. Twice in the car too."

Carol sucked her teeth.

"I know," she said. "But—look at him."

"I'm lookin' at him," Daryl confirmed. "And I'm lookin' right past him too. This here's my birthday dog, right?"

"Yes," Carol confirmed.

"And you said you want me to get the dog that I want, right?" Daryl pressed.

"Yes," Carol said.

"Then let's keep moving," Daryl said, gesturing with his hand that she should turn around and continue forward the way they'd been going when the little dog had gotten her attention. She opened her mouth and widened her eyes, an expression that told Daryl he might be about to be had, and then she spoke.

"It's your dog," Carol said. "And I want you to have what you want, but I think we've also got to be reasonable." This was where she'd get him. This was where she always got him. Any time it started with the speech that he should be reasonable, Daryl knew that he was about to be out-reasoned. This time, though, he wasn't going to lose. At least, he wasn't going to lose to the dancing hamster. "You've got to think about the size of the house. Whether you want to or not—we don't live in a big house. A big dog? It wouldn't be fair to him! He'd have nowhere to go in the house—just the yard outside. And—you've got to think about—about the upkeep. I'm the one that's going to be taking care of the dog most of the time. What if I can't wash it? What if I can't—handle it? We're talking about kids? Do you want—Daryl? Do you want some big dog knocking me off my feet when I'm pregnant? Or—or _trampling our baby_?"

Daryl held the look of concern as long as he could. He mirrored the creased brow that Carol showed him. This was serious. Her arguments were serious. He could hear it in her voice. He could see it in her eyes. She was imploring him to listen to her—and to her very serious arguments. And when he couldn't hold it anymore, Daryl laughed. Carol only looked slightly offended.

"Stop usin' my damn unconceived kids against me," Daryl said. She broke and giggled at it, but she got it under control quickly and started to shake her head. "I mean it!" Daryl added. "You used 'em to get the house you wanted. They got us the bigger and more _sensible_ car."

"I want foolish things as much as you do!" Carol interjected quickly. "But if we're buying a car and we're buying a house, then we have to think about whether or not we want children. Otherwise we're buying the _wrong c_ ar and the _wrong_ house that we'll just have to trade in again whenever we decide to start a family."

Daryl sucked in a breath and nodded.

"Fine," he said. "Fine. I'll give you the car and I'll give you the house. We gotta think about things like that but..."

"But we have to think about the dog too, Daryl," Carol said. She shook her head. "You think I'm joking but just think how you'd feel if you got a—got a—a _Brutus_ and then I got hurt walking him. Or he stepped on the baby or—whatever it is that big dogs do to little tiny babies. We have to think about those things, Daryl."

Daryl shook his head, still oddly amused at the visions her warnings conjured up, and reached to put his hands on her shoulders. He squeezed reassuringly.

"I'm not talking about a junkyard dog with rabies," Daryl said. "They don't even got them here. All these dogs are screened so that ain't none of them raging baby killers."

"It would be an accident," Carol said, some slight annoyance creeping into her voice.

"Just keep looking," Daryl instructed. "Sure there's at least one mutt here we can agree on."

Carol turned to keep walking, but she hummed when she did. Daryl prompted her to say what was on her mind, but then he wished he hadn't.

"I didn't know we were coming down here to bail your brother out," she teased.

"Just keep walking, woman," Daryl responded with a chuckle.

No more than three pens down, Daryl called Carol's attention. She was ahead of him by two pens and she spun around on her heels and came sashaying back. She stood in front of the pen that he'd stopped at, took one look at the dog behind the chain link, and shook her head at him. In case he'd suddenly been struck blind, she hummed her disapproval.

"He's too big," Carol said.

"Good size," Daryl declared. "That there's like—medium to medium large. That ain't bad. He'd be a good dog. Keep you safe at night if I gotta work late."

"Shady characters living in our neck of suburbia?" Carol asked.

Daryl sucked his teeth at her smart ass remark.

"Point is, he ain't too big. Just big enough," Daryl said.

Carol leaned down to examine the dog more closely. Like she had with the dancing hamster, she offered the back of her hand for sniffing. The dog wagged its tail when it sniffed her and then fell into something of a dance himself. He clanged loudly around in the little cage, slapping everything loudly with his tail.

"She," Carol said. "And she's just a puppy, Daryl. Look at her feet. She's going to get bigger. _A lot_ bigger." Carol straightened up and shook her head at him. Daryl frowned and looked back at the dog. "There just isn't room for her!" Carol declared, seeming to fear that he'd buck her on this. "She'd never be happy in our house."

Daryl sighed and nodded. It was true. As much as he might want a massive dog, there really wasn't room for one in the starter house that they'd just bought. If the puppy was going to grow, she wasn't going to fit. It would already be tight as it was. If she were too much larger, she'd probably only be comfortable right in the middle of the kitchen or living room floor—and after a while? That wouldn't be comfortable for anyone.

Reluctantly, Daryl ceded the point the Carol.

"Fine," he said with a sigh. "Fine. You right. She ain't gonna fit. But we ain't gettin' no little rat dog neither and I mean that."

Carol smiled at him. She masked her happiness quickly with a false look of concern for him, but the happiness shined through beneath it.

"I promise," she said. "We'll find something _perfect_. Something—just in between the two in size. Something..."

"I don't gotta be embarrassed of when I walk it around the neighborhood," Daryl interjected. Carol nodded.

"And something that won't kill me when I walk it," Carol added. Daryl nodded.

"Deal," he said. "Let's keep looking."

They started forward again, still searching out the pens as they passed, but their forward progress was interrupted when they bumped into one of the workers that was coming toward them from only a few pens away, her ponytail swishing behind her as she came. She smiled broadly at the two of them.

"I couldn't help but overhear," she said. "And I think I might have some suggestions—if you wouldn't mind a little help finding a dog? I think you might really like Jake."

Carol glanced at Daryl like she was waiting for him to respond to the girl, so Daryl finally nodded at her.

"Yeah," he said. "Can't hurt. I mean—we don't like him, we don't like him, right?"

The girl's smile didn't fade and she nodded.

"Absolutely!" She said, a little too much enthusiasm behind her words for Daryl's tastes. He could tolerate her during their quest for the perfect dog for their home, but he wouldn't be too sore to see her go at the end of it all. "Come on, I'll show you!"

She led them out of the corridor that they were walking down and through a maze of other pens. Some of them were empty, others were full of expectant eyes. Finally, she stopped in front of a communal pen that looked to be like something constructed so that the dogs could go and be "social" with others. She waved her hand at the pen.

"Lotta dogs in there," Daryl offered.

Carol took a knee again, in front of the pen, and a wave of dogs came to greet her. The girl, unbothered by Daryl's comment, stepped inside and whistled before she began enthusiastically calling "Jake". It did little to get the attention of any of the dogs, really, and Daryl assumed that none of them had really had the time or the training to learn their "new" names inside the shelter. Finally, she walked over and caught the dog by the collar. Realizing he was being called, he came with her easily enough.

Jake walked slowly over, never really seeming to need to pick up the pace beyond a slow saunter. The girl pushed the other dogs out of the way enough for him to greet Carol at the fence and when he was offered her hand he sniffed it before he dropped his nose to the ground and focused on smelling the dirt where she stood that was just beyond his reach.

"This is Jake," the girl said. "He's a Bassett. Six years old. His parents were old and they didn't allow dogs in the retirement home."

Carol made a mournful sound and threaded her hand through the fence to scratch at the floppy ears of the hound.

"Nobody wanted him?" Carol asked.

The girl shrugged.

"As far as we know," she said, "there wasn't anybody else."

Daryl eyed the dog. The first thing he needed was a bath. Daryl could smell the pungent and definitive odor of _hound_ from where he stood. Other than that, though, he wasn't a bad looking dog. Not for his breed. He just happened to look like he was melting into a puddle right where he stood.

But when Carol looked at him, Daryl knew that he was sunk. Her expression, as she scratched the droopy dog, was more sincere than it had been with the dancing hamster. She didn't even have to ask him with her words. Her eyes were doing it all.

"Hounds smell," he said. "Gonna need a lotta baths."

"We'll wash him anyway," Carol offered.

"Hardheaded," Daryl said. "Hard to train."

"You can teach him to hunt," Carol said. Daryl didn't have the heart to tell her that it was likely that this dog, a pet all his life, wouldn't ever be a very good hunting dog. She seemed to see it as a huge selling point. He forced a smile and nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah...maybe—but..."

Daryl stopped because he wasn't sure what the "but" was supposed to be followed with.

Carol straightened up.

"He's the perfect size. Not too small and not too big. He won't grow anymore," Carol said. Daryl glanced at the dog. It might grow, but not vertically. "And—he's a hound dog. He'll be good for protecting me, just like you wanted."

Daryl hummed.

"He good with kids?" He asked the girl.

She shook her head gently and shrugged at the same time.

"Don't really know for sure," she said. "But he's really gentle with everyone. Even the puppies. He lets them crawl all over him. Tug at his ears. He even likes cats. He just—well, he likes to chase them."

The dog looked at both of them with his huge, drooping, eyes. And when Daryl looked at Carol, things didn't get much better. Her eyes, at the moment, were begging him just as much as the dog's eyes had the ability to do. He sighed.

"Get him a leash," Daryl said. "We takin' him home."

Carol cheered at him and, in her true fashion, hugged him genuinely to say how much she appreciated the choice that had been made. He hugged her back. Her excitement and the sincerity of the embrace was almost worth taking any dog there that she had a mind to have. When she pulled away, the girl coming out of the pen with the dog on one of the temporary leashes they kept looped nearby, Carol looked at him with some concern.

"Do you really like him?" She asked. "Because—it's your birthday and I want you to have what you want."

Daryl smiled at her. He nodded.

"I got it," he assured her. "Don't you worry about that. Now—get'cha dog. We gotta go buy some shampoo."


End file.
